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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24430105">Ambush</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms'>holograms</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>whiskey tango foxtrot [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MASH (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies With Benefits, Infidelity, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Smut, Unreliable Narrator, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:53:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24430105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If he doesn’t survive the war, it’s going to be because of Hawkeye Pierce.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Burns/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Frank Burns/Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>whiskey tango foxtrot [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764913</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ambush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Events mentioned from "As You Were" and "House Arrest" - this would take place in season 3 I suppose, but the timeline is messed up on the show anyway so! Whatever!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been a mistake. Frank found himself lost on some Seoul backstreet and rather than venture further into the seedy underbelly of the city and risk being captured and having his organs sold on the black market, he asked for directions. <em>Somewhere a man can unwind, you know? </em>and the local had looked Frank up and down and in broken English told him where to go, which led him to an unsuspecting hole in the wall where he otherwise wouldn’t have looked twice.</p><p>And that’s how he’s...here. It took him five minutes to realize there were no women. It took him three more minutes to realize there probably <em>won’t</em> be.</p><p>He’s stumbled into some type of corrupt pleasure den.</p><p>There are a mix of men from all branches of military and locals being <em>vile </em>with each other. Men <em>looking</em> at other men, holding hands as they talk, necking in dark corners.</p><p>Disgusting.</p><p>He knows he should leave immediately and report it to both local and military authorities. That would be the right thing to do. Have all the deviants arrested. However...</p><p>...he couldn’t leave just yet because he hasn’t finished his drink and because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself — what if one tries to proposition him? — and because, well. Perhaps it isn’t his business. Better they stay all together here than elsewhere.</p><p>And so, Frank (nervously) sits at a table (alone) sipping his drink (delicious). He’s glad he wore civvies because it would be a dishonor to the oak leaf clusters on his uniform to be worn into a place like this. There are plenty of <em>them</em> wearing their uniforms. Another sign of their bad judgment.</p><p>…he really should leave.</p><p>He admits there’s not as much debauchery as he would’ve expected — although, he isn’t sure what he expected (if he had thought about what happened in a place like this, which he hasn’t). Everyone unclothed, taking each other like animals? But it was like any other bar he’s been to, dim and heavy with smoke and the smell of alcohol and a quiet murmuring of half conversations. Except it isn’t <em>normal</em> at all.</p><p>He should leave.</p><p>There’s one man at the bar, leaning against it with long, long legs and Frank’s eyes can’t help but be drawn to where khakis are snug against the man’s ass — the guy is all but flaunting it — and further up, a thin frame clad in a tacky blue and white Hawaiian shirt—</p><p>Frank goes warm all over. Pierce <em>would</em> be in a place like this, the degenerate. Frank has suspected him of deviance but has never thought much of it as Pierce has canoodled with almost every nurse who's came through their unit, but here he is, talking with another man, wearing the same lecherous expression as he does when he seduces women.</p><p>(because Frank can’t <em>not</em> notice when Pierce does that, it’s not like he’s always watching him—)</p><p>Pierce must say something funny because the guy laughs — a Navy-man. It’s bad enough that he’s consorting with a man but he’s crossing branches, too? Frank holds his breath as Pierce gets closer to the other, like he’s trying to meld their bodies together.  He slots his leg between the sailor’s and pushes forward and they rub on each other, but the most heinous thing of all is how Pierce’s lips part with what Frank imagines is a moan and how his eyelids flutter, Frank can see those bright blues even in the dark—</p><p>And then he’s looking at him.</p><p>Frank’s mouth goes dry.</p><p>There’s fear in Pierce’s face when recognition hits but that quickly passes, and then his expression changes into one that Frank is well familiar with: scheming, preparing to do something cruel.</p><p>Pierce keeps his gaze on him as he kisses the man’s neck, because he knows Frank can’t say anything because he’s there too and his word against his isn’t ever worth very much. Frank sees a flash of teeth and since when did it get so hot in there? He’s sweating, his shirt sticks to his back and he’s having trouble breathing—</p><p>This is the worst thing Pierce has ever done to him.</p><p>Just how does Pierce get by with everything? It can’t all be charm and fast talk. Perhaps he does some <em>favors </em>for the Colonel on his knees and with that clever mouth—</p><p>He’s sure he hears Pierce laughing as he leaves.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Frank considers waking Margaret and telling her everything, but she would ask too many questions, such as: <em>Were you intending to pick up another woman?</em> and <em>Why didn’t you do something about it?</em> He’s jittery and would love to wake her for other reasons, but she hates it when he wakes her just for a romp, so.</p><p>His shared quarters are blessedly empty; McIntyre is on post-op overnight and Pierce is still in the city, presumably still grinding on some guy. He steps over the mess and undresses without turning on additional light, collapses onto his bunk.</p><p>He can’t stop thinking of it. How openly Pierce and that man were showing affection. He’s never felt comfortable showing affection in public — it’s <em>humiliating</em> — and yet they were so confident. How can they be so open? Why? Pierce had been so—</p><p>He can’t stop thinking of it and he worries, does that make him one, too? A queer? No — he can’t be one. He’s married and he has a mistress and he likes women, as he should. He’s normal.</p><p>Frank had just dozed off when Pierce comes back. He peeks to see his tall form backlit by the lights outside. Pierce is drunk — as per usual on a night off — stumbling in the room. He smells like liquor and sex.</p><p>Frank pretends to be asleep because he really <em>really</em> doesn’t want to hear whatever Pierce would say to him. He feels Pierce’s presence at the foot of his cot, looking at him. He wonders if Pierce would climb on top of him and press himself against him — he shakes that image away, why would he <em>think </em>that? It’s all because of Pierce and his nastiness—</p><p>Pierce sighs and walks to his side of the tent. There’s the rustle of fabric, of his boots hitting the floor, the squeak of his cot.</p><p>Frank compels himself to sleep so he won’t have to think of anything else.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t have much time to about it the next day because they’re inundated with wounded. A bleeding body is placed in front of him, he digs out metal, reconnects things the best he can, sews him up, and then it repeats again. And again. Pierce and McIntyre have their usual comments, but it’s nothing more than white noise. Eight hours on his feet pass, then ten, and after that it all feels the same. He doesn’t realize he’s hungry until someone feeds him a cold sandwich and orange juice while he continues to work. He doesn’t realize he’s exhausted until he snaps at a nurse and Colonel Blake orders him to take a break, and because he isn’t one to question a superior officer, even an incompetent one, he complies. He curls up on a table in the prep room and goes to sleep immediately. He’s too tired to dream, but Pierce’s voice still haunts him, <em>Frank? Frank, wake up—</em></p><p>And now he’s dreaming about Pierce, of his bright eyes and scruffy jawline hovering over him.</p><p>“Good morning, Rip Van Wrinkle,” Pierce says and he is very, terribly real.</p><p>Frank sits up, rubs his face. “How long was I asleep?” It doesn’t feel like he rested at all.</p><p>“About an hour and a half.”</p><p>He looks to Pierce, and suddenly he’s aware of how very alone they are in the room. He thinks Pierce may ask why he was where he was last night but it looks as though he’s going to fall over where he stands. Pierce keeps blinking, like he can barely keep his eyes open. The shadows under his eyes are darker than usual. He looks at least five years older. Frank wonders if he looks as bad as he does.</p><p>Pierce waves his hand at him. “Scoot. My turn. Unless you want to cuddle.”</p><p>Pierce takes over where Frank has been lying, lets out a sigh of relief like he’s resting upon a featherbed and not a wooden board covered with a sheet.</p><p>“Thanks for keeping it warm,” Pierce mumbles. “Bye, Frank.”</p><p>Frank knows Pierce must be really exhausted — he didn’t say not one mean thing to him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It seems as though Pierce isn’t going to say anything about the incident, which is for the best. Deniability for both of them. Frank will blot it out of his mind that Pierce was seeking out <em>relations</em> with men, and Pierce will never say that he saw him at the same place.</p><p>...except one night Frank has a dream where Pierce touches him and whispers filth in his ear, and he wakes up throbbing hard in his underwear.</p><p>He lies in the still quiet of the night, willing his body to abate itself, but it does not listen. He digs his nails into his thighs. He sits up to check on his roommates. McIntyre is snoring and Pierce is sleeping on his stomach — his blanket kicked to the floor.</p><p>Very quietly, Frank slips into his robe and steps into his boots without tying them and goes to the latrine. Locks the door and shoves his hand in his underwear.</p><p>He’s never thought about his wife while doing this, and it feels a bit disrespectful to think of Margaret, so he thinks of nothing. Nobody. Just the feeling of quick pleasure. A normal bodily response. He bites his other hand to keep from making noise and he closes his eyes and he thinks of that nothingness, but as heat curls in him his mind wanders he thinks of how Pierce has really nice hands and what his might feel like on him—</p><p>He cleans up and keeps his head down as he walks back to his quarters. He lies under his blanket and goes to sleep before the shame sets in.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Even though it’s impossible, Frank thinks that Pierce somehow knows what he did. That his mind conjured up some salacious smut fantasy, that he was so inflicted that he touched himself in public facilities like some kind of teenager. It’s probably because they’ve been spending so much time together. Yes. That’s it. For a year they’ve slept in the same tent, worked together, had meals together (if occasionally eating at the same table can be considered as such), hid under a table together while their hospital gets bombed. He’s not like that. He’s a red-blooded American with a mortgage, not a floozy liberal beatnik like Pierce.</p><p>But Pierce <em>must</em> know because in the O.R. he puts a hand on Frank’s hip as he squeezes past him and all coherent thought vanishes and he drops the forceps he had been holding. They clang loud on the floor and everyone looks at him.</p><p>“Pierce knocked it out of my hand,” he gives as a excuse, and Blake curses at him (“Damn it, Frank!”) and everyone goes back to working.</p><p>Frank steals a glance at Pierce. He can tell he’s smirking at him under his mask, by the way the fabric wrinkles and his eyes go squinty and extra devious.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After, Frank gets a bit fresh with Margaret. He waits until they’re alone and he wraps his arms around her from behind and kisses at her neck, whines, <em>please</em>. She likes it when he begs (except when she doesn’t). But he lucks out because she likes it today — she gasps and calls him <em>naughty boy</em> and tells him <em>fifteen minutes</em>.</p><p>He concludes that he definitely is not one of <em>them</em> because he performs quite well with her. He has to like women to have done what he just did with Margaret.</p><p>But then he remembers that Pierce is quite popular and revered among the ladies.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next time he’s alone with Pierce is in the shower.</p><p>Pierce strides in, hanging up his robe and stepping out of his shoes, with a confidence that Frank would be envious of if he didn’t find it distasteful.</p><p>“Hello, Frank,” he says and he pulls the chain for water to rain down on him.</p><p>Frank’s first thought is to flee, but that would just be suspicious. They’ve showered together plenty of times. This is fine. Pierce doesn’t seem to be bothered — he hums a tune as he lathers soap in his hands and scrubs at his chest.</p><p>Frank realizes he’s staring. He goes back to rinsing out his hair.</p><p>“Been anywhere interesting lately?”</p><p>Frank wants to turn into liquid and go down the drain, too.</p><p>“No,” says Frank. “Nowhere.” He thought they agreed to not acknowledge it?</p><p>Pierce makes a <em>huh</em> noise, turns his back to the water. “Didn’t you have an evening off last week?”</p><p>“I did?” Frank hates <em>hates</em> how his voice pitches up. “If I did, it must have not been very memorable since I cannot recall—”</p><p>Pierce leans on the makeshift door separating the stalls, too invasive, but Frank is too transfixed with how water drips down his neck to move away.</p><p>“Really, Frank?” Pierce asks. “You have nothing else to say?”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frank says, too fast, too guilty—</p><p>Pierce sighs. “Have it your way,” he says, and he shakes his head, flinging water everywhere like a wet dog. Frank steps back, blinking, and when he’s opened his eyes again Pierce is out of the shower.</p><p>Frank watches as he towels off, tucks it low around his hips and stretches his arms over his head. He looks over his shoulder, catches Frank looking.</p><p>Pierce puts on his robe, has enough nerve to smile at him, that <em>pervert.</em> “See you later, Frank.”</p><p>Frank has never hated him more.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The war goes on, as does life — although Frank supposes they are the same, now.</p><p>Currently: there’s a war between him and Pierce in the supply room. They’re supposed to be doing inventory, but they haven’t been civil since that morning in the shower. Less civil than their usual. Pierce is angry, cursing everything — <em>fuck the war fuck every single damn general and every single one of their stars fuck the humidity fuck your snooty face fuck your clipboard—</em></p><p>Frank clutches his clipboard to his chest. “That’s enough, Captain.”</p><p>Pierce crosses his arms. “Quack.”</p><p>Frank sneers at him. “Scoundrel.”</p><p>“Goody two shoes.”</p><p>“<em>Dandy</em>.”</p><p>“Prig!”</p><p>That obstinate, <em>awful</em> — Frank feels as though he’s been lit on fire from the inside out, like he’s going to choke on smoke filling his lungs and Pierce looks as though he feels the same, the fury and the...something else.</p><p>They move at the same time.</p><p>Frank grabs Pierce’s face with both hands — his clipboard, abandoned, clatters to the floor — and puts his mouth to his and Pierce clutches at his jacket to hold him still and kisses him back. It’s dizzying, Frank can’t catch his breath and his knees almost give out and he stumbles forward into Pierce. A harsh noise rips from Pierce’s throat that Frank feels and then—</p><p>—Pierce is laughing. Frank feels Pierce’s smile curl against his mouth and he panics, thinking maybe it was all a ploy, a trap — McIntyre is going to pop out from behind a shelf and say <em>gotcha! </em>and snap a photo and he’ll be ruined forever, labeled as a degenerate. But Pierce keeps kissing him, licking into his mouth, and he keeps touching him—</p><p>”I knew it,” Pierce says, smug, “I <em>knew </em>it, I knew you <em>ah</em>—”</p><p>Frank bites at a sweet spot on Pierce’s neck. “Don’t,” he says, because he doesn’t want to talk about it, because then he would think about it and then maybe he would have better judgement and stop and he doesn’t want to stop, ever.</p><p>Kissing a man is interesting. It’s mostly the same as it is with a woman except for how it’s not — there’s the scrape of stubble against his face and Pierce's body isn’t soft and he smells different and there's an insistent hardness pressing at his hip.</p><p>That startles Frank from it. He pulls away and Pierce leans into him, trying to follow —that fills Frank with a delight. Pierce <em>wants</em> him. Or at least this. He knows he may be not the best at surgery but he’s good at<em> this </em>— and Pierce is enough of a horndog that he would like it. He’s disheveled, his hair a mess and lips kissed-pink and his eyes are heavy-lidded and Frank realizes how annoyingly good-looking he is.</p><p>Pierce is impatient, attacks him with his mouth again, biting at Frank’s throat. Frank gasps and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, where to touch him or if he should at all. Pierce touches him though, tugging at his belt—</p><p>“The door,” Frank says between violent kisses, “it’s not locked, we—”</p><p>Pierce walks him backwards, pushes him against the door, making a satisfying <em>thud</em> against it. Pierce locks them from the inside, then puts his hands on the door on either side of Frank’s head, trapping him.</p><p>He’s tall. Frank has never kissed someone taller than him.</p><p>“Tell me to stop,” says Pierce. “I will.”</p><p>“No.” Why would he?</p><p>“Good,” and Pierce drags him back to him, kisses the breath out of him.</p><p>They stumble back across the room, and Pierce turns them so he backs Frank into the desk. Frank puts his hand behind him on it to steady himself because he’s still unsure this is really happening. It could be all a dream. He’s going to wake up and Pierce will be asleep in his bunk across the room. But this has to be real, Pierce’s warm mouth at his ear and his hands slipping under his jacket and pulling his shirt untucked—</p><p>He’s hard now, too. He had tried to ignore it and hoped it would pass but it isn’t, it’s all Pierce’s fault, if he weren’t so...so...</p><p>Pierce lets out an amused chuckle. “Calm down, Frank,” he says, but he doesn’t back away from where Frank is pressing against him. “I’m <em>easy</em>. You don’t have to work so hard."</p><p>And then Pierce has his hands on Frank’s belt, undoing it. Frank tries to reciprocate but his hands are shaking too much. Pierce laughs, says, “Shaky hands in the O.R., shaky hands when you’re getting frisky—”</p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>.” He flames anger, embarrassment, but it just makes him ache more. He can’t really argue when Pierce gets his pants unzipped and puts his hand into his underwear.</p><p>Frank bites his tongue to keep from crying out.</p><p>“So you <em>do</em> have some balls.” Pierce handles him rough, making him yelp — he <em>needs</em> those — but then he touches him in an <em>very</em> very nice way and he sounds like a deflating balloon and he feels himself twitch in his hand.</p><p>“May I?”</p><p>It’s the first time Pierce has ever genuinely asked Frank's permission for anything. Frank nods — he is so overwhelmed that he can’t even speak — and Pierce pushes his pants and shorts down his thighs, grips him tight in his hand, makes a noise like he’s appraising him.</p><p>”What?”</p><p>“Oh, nothing,” Pierce says. “I had just always figured your boasting had other implications. I’m pleasantly surprised, however.”</p><p>“You’ve thought about my—?”</p><p>“I’ve had a few peeks in the shower, but you are quite modest.”</p><p>“You immoral, reprehensible—”</p><p>“Degenerate, yes, I know. But I can’t help it, Frank,” Pierce says. “A girl has needs.”</p><p>Frank scoffs but he figures he shouldn’t be too insulting when his sort-of-enemy has his most delicate bit in his hand, at his mercy. And because it’s<em> good,</em> even if a little careless and too dry. He pushes into Pierce’s hand, tries to ask without actually asking. Pierce licks his hand and puts it back on him and it’s slicker and he strokes him better now, working him at the end and thumbing over the tip—</p><p>Pierce has definitely done this before. With a man.</p><p>The thought makes him nearly come on the spot. He makes a sound that he knows Pierce is going to tease him about later, whining and gasping and if he says Pierce’s name he’ll never admit it—</p><p>Pierce covers his mouth with his other hand. “Do you want everyone to know you’re absolutely dripping for my hand on your cock?”</p><p>Frank hates him, he really does, he hates his arrogance and he hates his perfect teeth and he hates that he’s right.</p><p>“Oh—<em>screw</em> you.”</p><p>“I wish,” Pierce mumbles, “but you’re being inconsiderate,” he kisses at his neck, licks where his pulse is rapid, “when I’m here being so nice to you.”</p><p>Frank looks downward to where Pierce’s belt is half undone and his own hardness is pressing against his trousers.</p><p>“What are you asking for?”</p><p>“I know you’re coming to terms with your big personal awakening right now,” Pierce says, “but you need to touch me.”</p><p>“I’m not...” Not what? “I’m married.”</p><p>“Okay, so: could you heterosexually touch my dick, please?”</p><p>He says it in the same tone he uses when he’s describing a procedure to him very slowly, like he thinks he’s an idiot.</p><p>“Only to shut you up,” Frank says and he’s successful at getting Pierce's belt undone this time, if only because of spite and the great need to know what Pierce looks like when he’s being pleasured. Pierce continues to rub at him as he pushes his pants down, just enough that he’s out and Frank tries not to look at him but he does, at his pale thighs that he’s seen flashes of when Pierce struts around their tent clad in only his underwear and his...he’s never really seen another man erect and it’s a lot to think about but he does think that Pierce’s is very <em>his</em>. Showy and selfish. Pierce presses it against him, hips moving, trying to find friction and Frank instinctively grinds back on him, what in the hell is wrong with him? Pierce laughs at him (again) and Frank can’t decide if he wants to punch him or if he wants to kiss him.</p><p>“Come on, Frank,” Pierce says, “don’t make me beg—” and his cackling quickly turns to moaning when Frank puts his hand on him. Then it’s Frank who has to quiet Pierce with his hand over his mouth — he’s so loud, all the time. Pierce’s nostrils flare and he leers at him and he bites at his fingers and twists away from him, says, “I hope your hands are better at jerking me off than when you’re cutting on someone.”</p><p>“You think you’re so smart.”</p><p>“I <em>know</em> I am.”</p><p>Frank thinks of leaving Pierce aching and desperate — that’s what he deserves — but his ... feels nice, warm and heavy in his palm, soft skin. He’s not circumcised so that’s different to handle, but it’s mostly the same. It’s an awkward angle when doing it for someone else, but Pierce is enjoying it, for how much he’s trying to hide it — his breathing is ragged in a way that’s going to drive Frank crazy, and he’s clutching at Frank's hip, digging fingernails into his skin. It feels incredible to have Pierce vulnerable like this. It almost feels as good as Pierce touching him — it’s sloppier now but it’s getting him closer to the edge. They lean into each other, closer, and Pierce closes his eyes. Frank wonders if he’s imagining he’s with someone else. He won’t let him. If he has to acknowledge this, he does too.</p><p>“Pierce,” he says, “what are we doing?”</p><p>“All nonsense,” Pierce says, and then he kisses him again.</p><p>Frank thinks he does it just to keep him quiet.</p><p>He comes first, and he doesn’t bother to give Pierce a warning — the man had wanted it so damn bad, he shouldn’t care. He bites into Pierce’s jacket to keep from embarrassing himself further and Pierce says, “There you go,” as he strokes him through it. He’s still a bit dazed when Pierce's follows, gasping and spilling over his fist.</p><p>There’s only a moment of peace after, where Pierce is slumped against him with his face resting against his neck, and Frank’s only coherent thought is: <em>huh</em>.</p><p>“Well,” Pierce says. “That happened.”</p><p>And Frank pushes him away.</p><p>“That did <em>not</em> happen.” He looks at his hand, soiled, the evidence. He wipes it on Pierce’s jacket.</p><p>“Hey—”</p><p>“That was nothing.” Frank hurriedly tucks himself back in place, tucks his shirt into his pants. “Nothing.”</p><p>Pierce bites his bottom lip. “Sure seems like something to me.”</p><p>“Nothing!” He fastens everything, makes himself look decent again. “You tricked me with your seduction, like a two-cent strumpet.”</p><p>“Excuse me, I’m worth at least five cents.”</p><p>Frank scoffs. Picks up his hat from the dusty floor — it had got knocked off sometime in the process — and jams it on his head. Pierce hasn’t moved, still standing with everything hanging out.</p><p>“Make yourself presentable.”</p><p>“Okay, <em>sir</em>,” Pierce says, mocking, but he does as he tells him, anyway.</p><p>Frank can’t figure out how Pierce is feeling.</p><p>“Say anything about this,” Frank says, “and I’ll have you dishonorably discharged.”</p><p>“Will you? Pretty please<em>?</em>”</p><p>“Oh — <em>nerts!”</em></p><p>Frank storms out. He’s not gone five paces when something hits him in the back.</p><p>He spins around. Pierce is leaning against the doorframe and looks downward. Frank follows his gaze and sees his clipboard at his feet.</p><p>When he looks up again, Pierce gives him a lax salute and then, to his horror, winks.</p><p>If he doesn’t survive the war, it’s going to be because of Hawkeye Pierce.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And then it happens again two days later — no, three. It probably would’ve happened sooner but they have a non-stop barrage of wounded come through. Frank is on edge the entire time because Pierce keeps doing things to purposely irritate him, and they hurl insults back and forth until Colonel Blake asks if they need to be muzzled.</p><p>They don’t speak as they strip off their bloodied gowns and wash up to their elbows. Frank feels Pierce’s anger radiating off him, his hackles still raised. He knows he must be exhausted as he is. And yet.</p><p>When the last nurse leaves the room, Frank asks, “Would you like to have another meeting alone?”</p><p>He tries to be nonchalant about it. If Pierce wants to, great, if not, he doesn’t really mean it anyway. Maybe Pierce won’t even understand what he’s asking.</p><p>Pierce dries his hands, tosses the towel in the bin with the other dirty laundry.</p><p>“Sure,” says Pierce, with as much enthusiasm as though he were asked if he wants juice with his supper. “Got anywhere in mind?”</p><p>“I know a place.” He knows many places in camp where one can be alone with another. Pierce follows him to the small closet for extra linens and they cram themselves inside; Pierce takes up more space than when he’s in here with Margaret (oh,<em> Margaret</em>—). It’s dark, the only light coming in through cracks around the door, but it doesn’t matter; a body can figure out another.</p><p>Both are too tired to do anything other than rut against each other. They don’t bother to undress at all, they just find the right position and set out a steady grind. Pierce smells awful — he’s been sweating into the same clothes for at least two days and he reeks of surgery. Frank presses his face against Pierce’s neck, kisses him there. He tastes like salt and cheap soap.</p><p>“Only this time.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.” Pierce doesn’t seem really interested in what Frank has to say. Which is fine, because Frank doesn’t care what Pierce says, either. He’s only doing this because it’s better than fighting with him—</p><p>That’s what he tells himself after, when there’s sticky embarrassment in his pants. His eyes have adjusted so he can see how Pierce looks. How dare he be so...nice. He is a lot more tolerable after orgasm. His hand curls at the base of Frank's neck, fingering the damp hair there.</p><p>“You leave first,” he says. Frank doesn’t argue about the implications — if it did or did not happen. He just slips out of the closet, and thank goodness there’s nobody around. He straightens his clothes and leaves.</p><p>Margaret is waiting for him outside. He pauses, but then keeps walking towards his tent.</p><p>She gets in step with him.</p><p>“Want to join me?” she whispers. “It’s been days. I’m starving.”</p><p>She sneaks her arm around his waist; he jolts away from her.</p><p>“I’m really tired.” So tired, but the bigger issue is that he can’t look at her without feeling guilty because he feels like he’s cheating on her. Which he is, and he was already cheating <em>with </em>her—</p><p>He walks her to her quarters. “Tomorrow, my moon and stars,” he promises, and he quickly checks to make sure nobody is watching, and then kisses her on the cheek.</p><p>She smiles at him, coy. “Alright, sweet-talker.”</p><p>He takes a shower, scrubbing away filth — his own and everything else. When he gets back to his tent, Pierce is already in his bed, asleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Frank does go to Margaret the next day. They catch an hour between their shifts, and they quickly take off each other's uniforms and he’s aroused — good, he had worried about that, if he could — and she pushes him down on her bed and she climbs on top of him and—</p><p>“What’s this?” She’s touches his neck. “Where did you get these?”</p><p>He knows what she's talking about without having to look for himself — he has a very distinct memory of Pierce laving at his neck down to his clavicle.</p><p>“That was you, baby,” he says. “Remember? The other night? You were so hot for me. Here, let me make you feel good—”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He finds Pierce in the mess tent, sitting alone and picking at his food. Frank slides onto the bench next to him.</p><p>Pierce glances up. “This lunch table is only for the cool kids.”</p><p>Frank huffs. Must he never take anything seriously? “You almost got us <em>caught</em>.”</p><p>“Caught what?”</p><p>“You know. Don’t be cute.”</p><p>Pierce smiles. “Impossible.”</p><p>Frank pulls at his collar to show Pierce his handiwork. “Margaret saw your animalistic markings and had a lot of questions.”</p><p>Pierce tilts his head. “Why would Major Houlihan be interested in your hickeys?” He feigns shock, a hand going to his mouth. “Are you secretly dating her?”</p><p>“Stuff it in your stocking.”</p><p>People are looking at them now. He knows everyone knows about him and Margaret and if they know that, do they know that he and Pierce…? No. They would never expect that Hawkeye Pierce would stoop so <em>low.</em></p><p>Pierce drinks his coffee, sets the mug down. Says quietly so only Frank can hear it: “Too bad the Major gets my sloppy seconds.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> are the sloppy seconds, but not anymore because there isn’t going to be<em> anymore</em>.” He composes himself. “They say this happens in the Army. Experimentation. That’s all.”</p><p>Pierce snorts. “If you say so, Frank.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>McIntyre notices it, too. Frank is sitting on his bunk wearing only his shorts and shirt because even though it’s the middle of the night it’s too darn warm, and McIntyre looks over, says, “Looks like Hot Lips got ya good.”</p><p>Instinctively, he goes to touch the bruises on his neck but then drops his hand to his lap.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shoots a glare across the room at Pierce, who’s peeking over his nudist magazine.</p><p>“If you say so, Frank,” Pierce says, repeating.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He hates Pierce even more when he’s right.</p><p>The Colonel goes on leave for a few days and Frank is left in command. He’s determined to not let Pierce and McIntyre ruin it like they always do, but Pierce is willfully disobedient at reveille. He tells Pierce to meet him in the commander’s quarters, after the company is dismissed. Frank wants to make an example out of him. Or he wants everyone to think he is.</p><p>In reality, once he locks the door and pulls the shade down, they’re on each other, furious, their teeth knocking together and grasping at whatever they can touch.</p><p>They strip down naked, finally having the opportunity. Frank trips on their boots getting to the bed but Pierce holds him steady by the arms, guides him down.</p><p>“Nervous?”</p><p>“No,” Frank lies. Pierce makes him nervous in general. Sometimes, Pierce looks at him and Frank’s pulse doubles and he has a tight feeling in his stomach and it’s hard to think.</p><p>Pierce lays next to him. It’s a warm summer day so it’s nice to be bare. Even though Pierce made light of it, he’s careful to not leave marks on him, but he does kiss him feather light at the sensitive place on his neck.</p><p>“What shall we do?” Pierce asks, and Frank isn’t really sure what to say because he’s never been asked. Usually, he’s told what to do or not asked at all and it just happens.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he says. “You’re the one who’s done it with other men.”</p><p>“Have I?” Pierce has a lazy smile and he’s teasing him — Frank knows this by now. He runs his hand down Frank’s chest, goes downward, traces the scar on his lower stomach.</p><p>“Whoever cut you here did a nice job sewing you up,” says Pierce.</p><p>“I suppose.” The incision scar has started to fade, by now — it’s been months since Pierce operated on him (but it feels like over a year, that’s how time is here, it drags on and on). He’d been glad it was Pierce who did it. It would be something to remember him by, the maniac doctor who fixed his guts while their hospital was under enemy attack, because he knew Pierce would never never talk to him again when he doesn’t have to.</p><p>He lies very still as Pierce touches him. He’s mad because Pierce is annoyingly good looking, for a man — it’s not like he’s actually attracted to Pierce, this is all stress relief and a way to work out their animosity, and he’s hard only because he’s anticipating sex, and he’s mad because Pierce actually <em>likes</em> this, being with another man—</p><p>Pierce moves down between his legs and Frank has a realization of what he’s intending to do. Pierce puts his hand around him, slowly licks the inside of his thigh.</p><p>Frank gasps, looks down to where Pierce is located. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m trying to suck your cock, if that’s alright.” Pierce rubs his face against his leg. His day-and-a-half old beard tickles. “Well?”</p><p>“If you want to.” He doesn’t want to appear too eager for it. “I know you’re probably dying to get your filthy mouth on me, you rake.”</p><p>“Yes. I see you in those baggy drab olive trousers and my mouth starts to water.”</p><p>“You deranged creep—”</p><p>But then Pierce puts his mouth on him and he abandons all pretense of indifference. It’s probably what Pierce had intended. A moan escapes and he feels himself throb — Pierce isn’t passive at all, going right at it. Frank supposes it makes a difference that Pierce has one of his own and knows what feels good. But it feels more like getting tossed into water while being half asleep and left to tread water to stay with the current. Pierce sucks at the end and strokes the length, does something marvelous with his tongue that would make a prostitute blush. Frank covers his eyes because it’s too much and he has to take a deep breath to focus — shallow inhale and shaky exhale that comes out as a whimper — but he peeks through his fingers to see. Pierce’s cheeks are flushed pink and his chin is wet with spit and oh, he nearly comes unraveled at the sight of his lips around him. He fists the sheets, bites the inside of his cheeks so hard he tastes metal. Pierce must notice because he eases off a bit, taking his mouth away and just rubs at him.</p><p>Frank focuses on the ambient sounds outside — there is never true quiet there — the rumble of a jeep, people talking, distant chirping of birds. It’s peaceful. For a moment he forgets where he is, in the middle of nowhere on the other side of the world.</p><p>Pierce’s mouth brings him back — warm and wet and wonderful. Frank closes his eyes as Pierce licks at him, down his length. Frank is only partly aware of the content sounds he’s making, fractured little whines, but they seem to spur Pierce on — Frank clutches at Pierce’s shoulder, goes <em>oh!</em></p><p>“You’re liking this,” Frank says, “disgusting,” even though he probably shouldn’t say that when he is the barrier to his release, and that his teeth are very close to…all of that.</p><p>“And you’re ungrateful,” replies Pierce, but he lowers his mouth onto him again, further this time. Frank bucks forward into that pleasure and Pierce makes a strangled sound. Pierce holds him down, so hard that he’s going to have intimate bruising at his hip and that’s going to be another excuse he’s going to have to produce for Margaret, maybe he’ll ask for them to lay together in the dark—</p><p>“Relax,” says Pierce and his voice is a bit wrecked but he doesn’t stop, tongue pressing against the ridge and mouth sliding down.</p><p>“Pierce.” Frank gasps, twists his fingers in Pierce’s hair and tugs,<em> “</em>Please<em>,</em> please, <em>Hawkeye</em>—”</p><p>Pierce makes a sound in his throat that’s maybe pain, maybe something else, but Frank doesn’t have time to analyze it because he comes — Pierce doesn’t let up, wrapping his hand around him and swallowing it down and it’s the most obscene thing he’s ever experienced. Frank digs his heels into the mattress and he swears aloud, “fucking shit fuck cocksucker—”</p><p>When Pierce finally does drag off him, he’s got an amused smirk.</p><p>“Really?“ Pierce asks. “Not fiddle-faddle? Not malarky? Jiminy cricket?”</p><p>“Hush your pie-hole.” Pierce is the picture of filth — sweaty, lips red, mess on his face. “Margaret always spits it out.”</p><p>Pierce smiles. “Do I look like her?”</p><p>Frank scoffs. “Not hardly.”</p><p>“That’s right. I’ve got better legs.”</p><p><em>And a better mouth,</em> thinks Frank. It’s a pity he mostly uses it to talk.</p><p>He’s very aware of Pierce’s arousal, curved up and wet at the tip.</p><p>“I’m not doing the same for you,” he says.</p><p>“I expected as much.” Pierce lays down next to him, nuzzles annoyingly (wonderfully) against his chest. He bats his lashes. His eyes are very blue.</p><p>Frank circles his hand around Pierce, rubs his thumb against it. Pierce thrusts into his fist and pants against his neck, says, “Damn you, Frank.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After that, things become really complicated. More complicated.</p><p>Frank is having to pull double duty with both Margaret and Pierce. It’s difficult to separate their rendezvous. He can always meet Margaret in her tent, but it’s harder with Pierce — they have to be even more careful, because if they were caught it would be very very bad.</p><p>“It would be easier if perhaps we arranged a <em>ménage à trois</em>,” suggests Pierce. “Add one more and then it’s an orgy.”</p><p>“If you so much as <em>look</em> at her—”</p><p>“Alright, fine. Just us then.”</p><p>“I’m serious,” Frank says. “If I lose Margaret, I’ll kill whoever takes her from me and then I’ll kill myself—”</p><p>“There’s no need for that.”</p><p>None of it stops them. Pierce has a reckless streak and it evokes one in Frank. One afternoon Pierce drives them out of camp, to the other side of the hill. They’re an open target in the jeep but Frank doesn’t care much when he’s got Pierce’s tongue in his mouth and is getting off. That would be some way to die. Shot by a sniper, found dead with his hand in Pierce’s pants.</p><p>And then, that evening he and Margaret have a date and they hand-feed each other dinner and he’s never been more in love. She lets him lick her fingers clean and she wears a black silk robe and underneath only underwear (non-regulation) and no bra. He’s half-hard most of the night and she makes him <em>wait, </em>but once she does he’s dying for it<em>. </em>She spreads her legs and he gets on his knees and licks her through her lace panties and then slides them down her perfect legs and puts his face where she’s wet.</p><p>And then he has her right there on the floor. There’s a rug — Margaret says she’s going to get carpet burn but she wraps her legs around him as he pounds into her. It’s rough, hard, dirty, how she likes it at times but doesn’t like admitting. He thought his drive would be reduced because…<em>reasons</em>, but he lusts for more, anything—</p><p>He makes her come twice, once while he’s inside her and then again with his hands. He doesn’t intend to be crass, but he was<em> so</em> good that she can only lie on the ground.</p><p>“Where did that come from?” she asks. “Not that I’m complaining but…<em>Frank.</em>”</p><p>He’s satisfied with himself. “I was overcome with passion, Margaret. I’ve been busy and I couldn’t help myself, I was wound tighter than a spring. Oh, hold me—”</p><p>She pushes him away, props herself up on her elbow. “You have been preoccupied lately,” she says, and then narrows her eyes at him. “You haven’t been seeing another woman, have you?”</p><p>“No!” It isn’t a lie. He hasn’t been seeing another woman, only one tall, reprobate surgeon with the mouth of a sinner.</p><p>“Says the man who’s already cheating.”</p><p>“I <em>promise</em>, it’s only you—”</p><p>He supposes Pierce is having similar scheduling issues — with him and whichever nurse he’s flirting with that week and McIntyre, too.</p><p>”I don’t do this with him,” Pierce says when Frank brings it up. He sighs, wistful, rests his face against Frank’s leg. “Unfortunately.”</p><p>“Could’ve fooled me. Sometimes it looks like you want to devour him.” Frank has noticed, now that he knows Pierce is that <em>way.</em> He has also noticed that Pierce doesn’t look at him like that. “<em>Mmm.</em> That feels nice.”</p><p>Pierce, the jerk, stops what he had been doing and moves on to attending another place. “There was one time, with Trapper,” he says. “We were on leave in Tokyo, beyond wasted and then some. He was horny and as you like to remind me, I have no morals, so...” His sentence trails off, but picks it up again before what Frank thinks is grief settles on his face. “He’s not like that, but he likes me in the way he’s able.”</p><p>Frank thinks of all the touching between Pierce and McIntyre, the gentle intimacy. He wonders how much of it is <em>almost</em>, and how much is cozy, secure friendship. Frank wouldn’t know; he’s never had a friend that close.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Mother—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry it’s been a while since I’ve written, but I’ve been terribly busy. I’ve been working a lot with Captain Pierce. We’re getting along better lately. He’s a lot of fun, although it would be better suited if we weren’t in the Army. He goes by the name Hawkeye and that explains almost all you need to know about him. It’s nice to have a friend over here, other than Major Houlihan. Although, I’m not sure if he actually likes me, or is merely tolerating me—</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The first time Frank blows him, it’s in a fit of insatiable lust. He blames it on the way scrubs hang low on Pierce’s hips.</p><p>He supposes it could be considered premeditated. He gets the keys for the VIP tent from O’Reilly, who has the audacity to ask <em>why </em>and luckily Frank is really good with excuses when it comes to finding places to fool around. He tells him that he and Captain Pierce need to inspect it for upcoming guests. The Corporal’s eyes dart to the side, says, “Alright, sir,” and doesn’t ask any further questions.</p><p>And then with keys in hand, he drags Pierce from his shift in post-OP — it isn’t busy, McIntyre could handle it on his own — and leads him to the tent, pushes him inside, slides the lock shut. Pierce hardly gets one word out before Frank goes to his knees and tugs Pierce’s pants down to his knees.</p><p>“Goddamn, Frank,” Pierce says, and Frank has to agree. Goddamn. Pierce had forgone wearing fatigues underneath his scrubs — it has been so very warm these days — and he’s already showing half hard in his shorts. Frank pulls those down too, puts his mouth on him as soon as it’s free.</p><p>“Oh, okay,” is all Pierce says and it drives Frank crazy, that it’s like he’s unsurprised about what Frank does. Frank wants to make him feel like he feels, questioning every action, never knowing.</p><p>He tastes like he had expected, but it’s a bit odd. He pushes the skin around the end back, exposing the head, tastes him there. He would be concerned he isn’t doing it well if it weren’t for the fact that it fully hardens quickly under his tongue and Pierce is making nice sounds he’s never heard. He tries to replicate what he’s had done to him, slides down further, but he goes too fast and he gags and coughs.</p><p>“Be careful,” mumbles Pierce, and he pets Frank’s hair and golly, Frank can’t help but whimper because it feels really nice, something that an actual lover would do. He moves off him to catch his breath, noses against where Pierce’s pelvis meets his leg. He bites him there, works on sucking a bruise. He’ll leave marks on him, make anyone else he’s with wonder who else has had him.</p><p>Pierce is patient. Frank had had a passing thought that Pierce would hold him down and jam it down his throat, use him. But he doesn’t. Frank rests one hand on his backside while his other goes around the base, goes back to blowing him, becoming a little sloppy and he feels Pierce flex his thighs as he lets out a shaky moan.</p><p>“I need to sit down,” Pierce says, and he walks with his pants around his knees to the unmade cot in the corner. He sits and spreads his legs and Frank sits on his heels in front of him. His knees ache and so does his jaw and he aches in a different way in his pants but he wants to see this through. He doesn’t think of much as he goes down on him. He’s vaguely aware when Pierce is about to come, he knows that hitch in his breathing, and two seconds later there’s a flood in his mouth. He hadn’t intended to swallow any of it but he accidentally does some and there’s too much and it runs out of his mouth, onto the floor.</p><p>Pierce tilts his head up with a finger under his chin. The intensity of his stare sends a shiver through him. Pierce wipes at his cheek, where it’s wet.</p><p>“I’m not crying,” Frank says.</p><p>Pierce gives him that look where he doesn’t believe him.</p><p>“Come here,” he tells him and it’s awkward for two grown men but Frank partly straddles Pierce’s lap. Pierce wastes no time getting him out and he had been so close already that it takes only a few strokes for him to come.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Pierce had tied Frank’s boots to the rafters overnight — somehow — and he cackles like a rabid hyena as Frank devises a way to retrieve them, and once he has his boots he realizes they’re full of grits that had congealed overnight in the humidity—</p><p>—but instead of his usual stomping off and reporting him to the Colonel and/or complaining to Margaret, he throws his boots at Pierce which only makes the moron laugh more. Doubled over, howling, kicking his feet. It’s times like these that make Frank wonder if Pierce is all <em>there </em>in the head. He just wants Pierce to shut <em>up</em> and stop <em>laughing</em> at him, and so he pounces on him and Pierce is shrieking laughter but it abruptly stops when Frank gropes him.</p><p>Pierce nearly jumps out of his cot. He hisses at him, “What in the hell is wrong with you, Frank? Anyone could see you trying to feel me up.”</p><p>And yes, they live in the tent closest to the O.R. and their walls are made of see-through netting and—</p><p>He goes to Margaret holding his socks and boots.</p><p>“My poor baby,” she says, caressing his face, and he forgets about Pierce. He forgets about his stupid face and he forgets how his wish that he were as pleasant to him all the time as he is after he’s been spent. Margaret isn’t mean to him; she loves him. She’s said so. She is his only ally, his only friend.</p><p>“He doesn’t care about me,” Frank says, after. They’re lying on her cot cooling off. His feet are dirty from walking barefoot from his tent to hers.</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Pierce.” Who else?</p><p>She makes a <em>hmm</em> noise. He gets the feeling she hasn’t really been listening.</p><p>“Would it hurt him to at least act like he likes me?”</p><p>She shifts so she can look at him. “Why do you care?” she asks. “He’s nothing but a nuisance to you, and you despise that he doesn’t follow protocol.”</p><p>“I know,” he says, sighing. If Pierce was G.I., he would be perfect. “But it would make my life easier since I’m around him all the time.”</p><p>She doesn’t respond. He worries she thinks him weak. She is made of sterner stuff then he is. If she were a man, she would be a doctor and on her way to be a general.</p><p>He considers the topic dropped until that evening when Pierce comes beside him while he’s getting coffee.</p><p>“So you went and cried to the Major that I was a big meanie.”</p><p>Frank doesn’t look at him. “It was a discussion with my equal about an insubordinate officer of lower rank.”</p><p>“She asked that I play nice with you,” Pierce says, and then he leans in and whispers in his ear, “You should have told her how nice I am when I suck your dick.”</p><p>Frank drops the mug. It shatters on the floor.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He comes to the conclusion that things won’t change between him and Pierce. Can’t change. It would be strange if it did — there would be no way to explain why they suddenly appeared to be pals.</p><p>Pierce laughs when Frank tells him this, that he understands he feels like he has to carry on the animosity because he would lose face if it was known that he kind of likes him.</p><p>“Who said I like you?” Pierce asks. “We’re just fucking.”</p><p>Frank hates that he feels himself blushing. They’re in the Swamp, in a moment alone — Pierce is getting drunk (as usual) and Frank is sitting in the chair next to him, eating olives.</p><p>“You’re halfway civil with me when we’re together, like this,” Frank says, “but then you’re still cruel to me all other times. More so, like you have to compensate because you’re mad that you enjoy being with me, deep down.”</p><p>Pierce refills his glass. “I could be cruel to you when we’re fucking, if you’d like that instead.”</p><p>He doesn’t want that.</p><p>“I don’t have to do this,” Frank says. “I can stop whenever I wish.” He sounds like an addict.</p><p>“Oh no, whatever would I do without a midwestern boy pawing at me?”</p><p>“You don’t have other options here,” Frank says, lowering his voice, “with <em>men</em>. If you did, you wouldn’t be with me.”</p><p>Pierce glares at him and Frank feels the pressure to look away, but he doesn’t. What’s the worst that he could do to him?</p><p>And then Pierce shoves a glass at him that’s full to the brim with that terrible liquor. It slops onto his hand.</p><p>“Drink,” Pierce commands, “and then we’re finding somewhere to go.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Louise,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thank you for your letter and the enclosed (cash (one hundred), fresh razor (one), pair of socks (three; six socks total)). There isn’t much new to report over here. The communists are still giving us trouble, having not learned they’re going to lose to the American Way eventually. Major Houlihan and I run a tight command here at the hospital. Nothing would get done without me and him. A lot of my time is spent helping others with procedures, as they need an expert’s guidance. Captain Pierce is good, too, if a bit of a troublemaker. We work together well—</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Frank has a peaceful evening in his tent — peaceful because he’s the only one. Pierce and McIntyre have been out all evening at the officer’s (and enlisted) club, drinking their livers sour. He was not invited (Pierce never invites him, not even now).</p><p>Not that he would’ve gone. But.</p><p>He hears Pierce before he sees him. He’s caterwauling some ridiculous song as he strides through the door. It looks like it takes several seconds for him to get his bearings, but when he looks over in Frank’s direction, his face lights up.</p><p>“Frank!” He stumbles as he goes towards him — he is tanked. “You weren’t there.”</p><p>“You don’t like me there,” Frank says.</p><p>Pierce waves his hand. “Bah!” and then climbs into Frank’s cot with him. It squeaks with the added weight and Frank draws his knees up to separate them.</p><p>“Pierce!”</p><p>“M’name’s Hawkeye.” He leans in, closer. He smells of booze and smoke. “You don’t like me having fun. Party pooper.”</p><p>No, he doesn’t like it when Pierce has <em>fun</em> because normally it’s at his expense.</p><p>Terse, he asks, “What do you want?”</p><p>“You,” says Pierce, and he goes to kiss him but Frank is faster and moves away. Off-balance, Pierce falls and lands in a pile on the floor.</p><p>“Hey!” He tosses his head back, shaking hair out of his eyes. “That was mean.”</p><p>“What of it, string bean?” Frank crosses his arms. “It’s <em>mean</em> that you expect me to be in the mood when you’re coming to me just for <em>that</em>?”</p><p>“That’s all <em>this</em> is.”</p><p>“Yes, but...” Frank doesn’t know how to explain that it’s different. That his stupid feelings are hurt because he would like to be included. He always has, even before he started sleeping with Pierce, but he’s always had it out for him for some reason.</p><p>“Just because you struck out with whichever nurse—”</p><p>“Fine, Frank. I get it. Damn.” Pierce picks himself off the floor, goes to his bunk, lays down on top of it it fully dressed.</p><p>It would serve Pierce right to be uncomfortable after choosing to get that inebriated, but there’s just enough fondness there that Frank feels bad. So, he gets up and unlaces Pierce’s boots, takes them off and puts them neatly by his cot, stuffs his socks in them.</p><p>“You should’ve been there,” Pierce mumbles. “Father Mulcahy wore Klinger’s feather boa.”</p><p>Frank entertains his nonsense. “I’m sure he didn’t wear it as well as Klinger.”</p><p>“Not at all.”</p><p>He wrestles Pierce’s jacket off, removes his pants for him, then covers him with his threadbare blanket. He awkwardly pats his leg. “There. Sleep it off.”</p><p>“Thanks, Frankie.”</p><p>Frank’s resists the urge to tuck Pierce’s unruly hair behind his ear.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They keep going together, because there isn’t much else to do. Pierce has truly ruined Frank because nobody has ever touched him the way he does and he doubts anyone could replicate it. Pierce isn’t the best lay he’s ever had, but he’s interesting. He talks through it, laughs, has fun, and makes sure they both finish satisfied. Frank really <em>really </em>has a good time with him and he can’t stop wanting it. When he goes home with all the medals and accolades he will eventually earn, the only other thing he’ll have is the lingering memory of Pierce slobbering on his dick.</p><p>Maybe Pierce would visit Indiana, after the war. He’s almost convinced Margaret to go with him. It would be difficult for Pierce because he waxes poetic about Crab-Whatever Cove at any given opportunity. But stranger things have happened.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They’re mad. At each other, the war, their lousy supper, the fact that it’s been raining for three days straight. They’re fighting with their words and their hands — Pierce shoves Frank into a shelf and snarls, “Why are you so shitting stupid?” and Frank gives it back, pulling at Pierce’s hair and saying nasty things into his neck that he’d never would have imagined leaving his mouth — but then it yields into something more pleasant, nicer. Frank tries to overtake it, standing on his toes to meet him but Pierce backs him down, kisses him into keening. Frank lets him, leans into the solid form of his body. He rubs Pierce through his pants and Pierce goes, “son of a bitch,” and he thrusts forward and gasps, “fuck me.”</p><p>Frank nips at his earlobe. “We are.”</p><p>“No, I want you to <em>fuck</em> me.”</p><p>Frank’s mind goes skidding to a halt.</p><p>He pushes him away, arms length. “What?”</p><p>For once, Pierce is quiet. The only sound is the rain hitting the roof and their ragged breathing. There’s a pink tinge across Pierce’s nose and cheeks and Frank realizes that he’s <em>embarrassed</em>.</p><p>“That’s sick,” says Frank, but now he’s thinking of it, having Pierce under him and... “Why?”</p><p>“Because I’m a <em>sick</em> heathen and I thought it would feel good. But never mind—”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Pierce stares at him for a moment, and then breaks away from him.</p><p>“Pierce—”</p><p>“I’m going to get something.” Pierce puts his poncho back on, the hood over his head. “I’ll be back. Stay.”</p><p>“I’m not your <em>dog</em> to command.”</p><p>Pierce clicks his tongue, says, “Be a good boy and listen,” and then he goes out into the rain and slams the door shut behind him.</p><p>Frank is unsure what to do. Should he undress? What if Pierce doesn’t come back? What if became so revolted by the idea he decided to leave? Five minutes pass and he starts to believe Pierce won’t return. His worry makes him flag and he’s about to go back to his cot for a good sulk but then Pierce blows back into the supply tent with rain and wind.</p><p>Pierce slides the lock shut, and then takes off his poncho and tosses it on the floor. It didn’t help much; his hair is damp.</p><p>“Courtesy of the four-oh-seven-seven O.R. supply,” says Pierce, with a wicked look on his face. He takes something from his pocket and tosses it to Frank.</p><p>He catches it, looks down. Lubricant. When he looks back up, Pierce is grinning at him.</p><p>“To do this, we need—”</p><p>“I know that.”</p><p>They undress, and Pierce leans on his elbows on the table there, his ass sticking out. Frank slicks his fingers and he’s probably a bit too quick with it but it’s not like they have all the time in the world. Someone will eventually notice they’re missing, or they’ll be needed in surgery. It must feel alright because Pierce arches into his touch and demands <em>more</em> like the greedy degenerate he is.</p><p>“Slut,” says Frank; Pierce laughs and replies, “Yeah, probably.”</p><p>Frank tries not to think about what it says about him that he likes this, pleasuring Pierce (a man). Why does he want this when he could be with Margaret, or any other woman? Why—?</p><p>Pierce pushes back on his fingers, makes another one of his <em>displeased</em> noises. Frank knows anatomy, for all the flak Pierce gives him about it, and he knows about<em> stuff</em>. He isn’t stupid.</p><p>He searches with his finger inside him and he easily finds what he’s looking for. Everything is worth it for the reaction he gets from Pierce — shouting and his body shuddering all over and begging for more.</p><p>He keeps rubbing at his prostate, amused. “What was that?”</p><p>“I said <em>please</em>, you idiotic potted plant.”</p><p>Frank looks down at Pierce bent over in front of him. He slides his hand from where it’s resting at his hip, to the curve of his backside. He wonders what would happen if he slapped him there.</p><p>“Is that a way to speak to your superior officer?” Frank asks.</p><p>Pierce lets out a short laugh, <em>ha</em>, but he plays along. “Please, sir. I swear if you don’t put your cock in me, I’ll find someone who will.”</p><p>“Who? McIntyre won’t, not again.”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>“How about the Colonel? I’m sure you’d like Henry to bend you over his desk.”</p><p>“I’m going to strangle you,” Pierce says and he goes to stand but Frank pushes him down with a hand to his back of his neck.</p><p>“Be nice.” Frank knows it’s risky to be this audacious with Pierce but he’s really feeling his oats about it and it’s time Pierce is taken down, just a bit. Pierce struts around like a lazy peacock with a gorgeous plume, like he knows he’s good-looking and funny and clever and talented, has everything. He probably knows that he needs the discipline, because he isn’t fighting him back, but he turns his head so he can look over his shoulder, and, well.</p><p>Frank can’t wait anymore. He slicks himself and presses against Pierce and eases in slow. There’s resistance and Pierce grunts but he says, “I’m okay,” before Frank can ask. Frank isn’t sure he’s telling the truth. He’s seen Pierce nearly falling down with exhaustion while insisting that he was <em>okay</em>.</p><p>But he feels when Pierce relaxes, and then it’s much better. He had thought taking him from behind and the entire act of it would be impersonal, but it feels... They’re moving together and Pierce drops his head down and makes noises Frank has never heard from him or anyone and he’s saying his name, <em>Frank</em><em>—</em></p><p>The confirmation that he isn’t thinking of someone else is the most lovely part. Except for all the other parts.</p><p>Pierce grinds back on him, trying to speed things up but Frank wants this to last as long as possible. He watches the sweat run down Pierce’s back. He has an unending need to lick behind Pierce’s ear. He does. Pierce slams his fist on the table and it echoes in the small room. Frank lays his front against his back, slides in deeper. Pierce stifles a moan against his own arm. Frank touches him, strokes him off. He thinks he hears Pierce say, <em>thank you</em>. He presses his face into Pierce’s hair. He smells like war.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The rain has slowed, after, but remains nevertheless. They trudge through mud puddles on their way back across camp. They’re stopped by Klinger but Pierce gives an excuse quicker than Frank can process the words. Then, Pierce slips into their tent and grabs their bathrobes and soap and they sneak into the shower together.</p><p>“Frank.”</p><p>He turns to look at Pierce, who has his eyes closed as the steam rises from the water.</p><p>“What,” asks Pierce, “did the doctor say to the patient who had his left arm amputated?”</p><p>Frank blinks. “What?”</p><p>“You’re all right,” and then Pierce laughs at his own clever, yet morbid joke.</p><p>Frank wishes Pierce were like this always. Nice, talking to him like a true friend. Like he just isn’t temporary. Frank could forgive the lack of patriotism and he could see past differing morals. It’s great to be with someone just like you — like what he has with Margaret — but it’s good to have someone who’s the opposite of you. An antithesis. He hopes that if Pierce does not remain his...lover, he’ll at least be a friend.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Korea. Autumn, 1951.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Woke before dawn today for P.T., of which I was the sole attendee. Had breakfast in mess tent with Maj. Houlihan; discussed agenda for the day, and then went her quarters for more detailed meeting. She was complimentary of my enthusiasm. Slow day for wounded. Cpt. Pierce operated while I administered anesthesia. He had his usual smart-aleck remarks but he smiled at me under his mask several times not at my expense.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Other notable event: Cpl. O’Reilly’s pet skunk got lose from its cage and most of the afternoon was spent retrieving it. I wasn’t asked to help — not that I would have partaken in such nonsense — but it was very satisfying to see Col. Blake sprayed by the skunk, and how Cpt. Pierce fell to the ground, laughing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Having sex with Pierce is better in an actual bed — the Colonel is at a conference and Frank is left in command again, and therefore, gets the perks of honors such as: the commander’s private quarters.</p><p>Pierce is sleeping, worn out. Frank had been talking to him and he had dozed off in the middle of a sentence. Rude.</p><p>He sleeps with his mouth slightly open. He’s drooling on Frank’s shoulder.</p><p>Frank thinks of waking him but he looks so peaceful he decides against it. He takes the opportunity to really look at Pierce, since he can’t when he’s awake. Pierce is a few years younger than he is and it shows, but excessive drinking and stress is going to wear him down soon. He’s already starting to gray. There’s more silver in his hair than when they first met, almost a year ago. There’s a small scar above his lip. Frank makes a mental note to ask how he got it. He touches it, tracing it with his finger.</p><p>Pierce scrunches his forehead and then blinks awake.</p><p>“You need to leave,” Frank says.</p><p>“I see how it is.” Pierce yawns, stretches in a way that reminds Frank of a house cat. “You got what you wanted from me and then kick me out. My dad told me to watch out for men like you.”</p><p>He sits up and reaches down next to the bed to pick up his shirt but Frank grabs his arm.</p><p>“Maybe you can stay for a bit more?” It comes out like a question.</p><p>Pierce doesn’t need to be convinced — he flops down on his front, makes a sound like <em>hmmph</em>.</p><p>“Are you rushing me out so you can invite the Major over once I leave?” Pierce asks.</p><p>“I’ve considered it, but I don’t want to change the sheets twice in one evening.” Frank does not say that he plans to go to Margaret’s tent instead. Margaret wasn’t wild about the idea of making love in Blake’s bed.</p><p>He trails his fingers along Pierce’s spine, from his neck down to his tailbone. Pierce has his eyes closed but there’s a faint smile on his face. Frank drags his touch back up the long, long line of his back to his shoulders.</p><p>“You already have a surgeon’s slouch,” says Frank. “You’re much too young for that.”</p><p>“I’ve always slouched. I came out of the womb, slouching.”</p><p>“Lazy. No respect for military posture.”</p><p>“They can force me to wear their uniform and teach me how to salute and say <em>yessir</em> like a good obedient boy, but I will not stand up straight,” says Pierce. “That’s just too much.”</p><p>He turns on his side to face Frank, catches his hand. He holds him around the wrist, rubs his thumb over the delicate bones there.</p><p>“You should be better at surgery than you are,” says Pierce. “You have nice hands. Sexy wrists.”</p><p>He isn’t sure what to do with the comment.</p><p>“I know you don’t like me for my medical talents,” Frank says, and he’s a little but afraid to ask but he does, anyway, “but do you even think I’m attractive?”</p><p>Pierce groans, drops Frank’s hand.</p><p>“Well, you aren’t the prettiest boy at the fair,” he says. “Margaret’s right when she says you don’t have lips, and your chin is weak and your nose pokes me in the eye sometimes when you kiss me and—”</p><p>“Ferret face?”</p><p>“Yes,” Pierce says, “but it’s...endearing. It’s grown on me.” He frowns. “I don’t like things growing on me.”</p><p>Frank understands — he feels the same about Pierce.</p><p>“Tell me what else you like about me.”</p><p>It looks like it pains Pierce to compliment him, but he brought this upon himself. “Um,” he starts, “your eyes are a pretty color, and your nose is kinda cute. It gets all scrunchy when you're angry.”</p><p>“Then why are you insulting about it?”</p><p>“You’ve got nice shoulders,” Pierce says, ignoring him, “and the finest ass in the Army.”</p><p>“Really? How so?”</p><p>“Your brass has got a lot of ass.” Pierce gets closer, puts his mouth to Frank’s ear like he’s telling him a secret, says, “And I very much enjoy how you’ll absolutely debase yourself for a morsel of attention.”</p><p>Frank opens his mouth to argue, but Pierce kisses him, and decides he will, later.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Margaret blunders in the O.R. It’s unlike her but it’s understandable, as she’s anxious about the visiting lady Colonel. Pierce calls her out on her mistakes and orders her out of the room. If it were any other nurse, Frank would agree with him but it’s <em>Margaret.</em></p><p>She’s angry more at him than Pierce, and she asks him to do <em>something</em> about her honor. Frank isn’t really sure what to do because she’s usually the one with the ideas in justice; he just starts it.</p><p>“I demand satisfaction!” she says, righteous, and not missing a beat, Pierce turns to Frank and asks, “Tired lately, Frank?”</p><p>Frank blushes so intensely that his ears are warm, because yes, he is seeing her less these days and he has a suspicion that she suspects that he is spending his time with someone else. She’s been less tolerant of him lately, and he can’t stop saying something that makes her upset and so he wants to please her but she’s asking him to make an example out of Pierce and—</p><p>He does the first thing that comes to his mind. He winds up a towel and snaps it, hitting Pierce firmly on the ass. Something he’s been wanting to do since he’s met him, and more so recently for other reasons. It makes a very satisfying <em>smack</em> and he’d be lying if it didn’t make him stir down below.</p><p>Pierce’s body goes rigid. He turns and looks at Frank like he does before they start fooling around but then there’s another emotion there and then Pierce punches him, knocking him flat to the floor.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Frank hates Pierce and he wants the book thrown at him but it isn’t until Pierce is on house arrest that Frank realizes this could go badly. Pierce could say that Frank came onto him and everyone would believe Pierce. Or Pierce could be transferred and he’d never see him again. Or Pierce will stay but never want to touch him again. He doesn’t see how it ends well.</p><p>But since he’s perfect Pierce he gets out of it and because the universe is unjust, Frank ends up on house arrest instead.</p><p>That Colonel, that old woman, she didn’t stop when Frank asked her to and then she coaxed him into it because he had been feeling sorry enough for himself and then Margaret (thankfully) walked in on them and things got out of hand and now Pierce <em>and</em> Margaret hate him.</p><p>Pierce gloats. “I can leave if I want, go in, go out, in, out—” jumping back and forth over the threshold of their quarters.</p><p>Frank hugs his pillow. “Thanks for visiting.”</p><p>“I live here.” Pierce bangs on the door, gets the MPs attention and talks to them through the screen. “I can handle the prisoner for a while. If he gets handsy with me I’ll knee him where it hurts.”</p><p>They listen to him, and go in the direction of the mess tent, deserting their post. As soon as he’s free, Frank is putting them on report. He thinks to call them back — he feels more nervous alone with Pierce.</p><p>Who sits next to him. No — lounges. One leg crossed over the other, his body pivoted towards Frank.</p><p>“You know I didn’t do that to that woman,” Frank says, “I would never—”</p><p>“I know. You may be a lot of things, but you aren’t a rapist.” Pierce pats Frank’s knee. “She’s going to drop the charges tomorrow.”</p><p>He’s finally able to breathe properly again.</p><p>“How? Why?”</p><p>“Margaret spoke up for your honor and soothed the Colonel’s feathers.”</p><p>Frank is sure Pierce has something to do with it.</p><p>Again, he’s confounded by the mystery that is Hawkeye Pierce. He doesn’t understand how Pierce can do something thoughtful for him — like saving his skin from being court-martialed, or getting him coffee before the better brew runs out. How can Pierce do those things when he says (repetitively) that he hates him? Frank thinks it’s another way that Pierce messes with him. During one of their secret grinding sessions, Pierce told him, <em>I like fucking you as much as I like fucking with you.</em></p><p>He is tired.</p><p>“You hit me,” Frank says, and he knows he’s whining — he clutches his pillow tighter. “You hurt me.”</p><p>“You hit me first.”</p><p>“Hardly, and that was more playful than anything.”</p><p>Pierce lets out a short laugh. “Frankie! I didn’t know you were into that.”</p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>. Don’t you ever shut up? You were mad because I got one over on you and you humiliated me and my face still hurts.”</p><p>“Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?”</p><p>Frank’s eyes sting. “You’re awful.” He turns away from Pierce. It’s broad daylight and people keep passing by their tent.</p><p>Pierce heavily sighs behind him and then lays a hand on Frank’s shoulder but Frank shrugs it off.</p><p>“Stop that.” He won’t beg for kindness. But Pierce swears at him and grabs his pillow and throws it across the room.</p><p>“Look at me,” Pierce says, and then adds, “Please.”</p><p>And he does, because Pierce is right and he’s a damn idiot.</p><p>At least Pierce looks as miserable as he feels.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Pierce says, and it sounds different than all the other times he’s told him he’s sorry. “Don’t ask me to repeat it.”</p><p>“I don’t believe you,” Frank says. “You hate me.”</p><p>Pierce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not so much you, specifically. I hate a lot of what you do.”</p><p>Frank doesn’t know how that’s any better — what he does makes up who he is.</p><p>“What do you hate about me most? That I’m not as good as you at saving people?” Frank asks, offensive. “I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you.”</p><p>“I’m not perfect,” Pierce says, “but it’s like you don’t even try. You don’t care when patients die.”</p><p>“Why should I care?”</p><p>“You’re a doctor, Frank. That’s the point.”</p><p>“No,” he says, “I’m supposed to heal them. I can’t help it if they die.”</p><p>“Then try harder!”</p><p>“How? If they don’t die the first time they will when they come back, or when they come back again... They’re all going to die, Hawkeye. I wasn’t trained for this.”</p><p>He wishes Pierce would say something instead of looking at him like <em>that</em>. Like he does when something terrible happens. Painful mourning in those soulful eyes.</p><p>It passes. Pierce clears his throat. “Another thing I don’t understand is why you never asked me.”</p><p>“Asked you what?”</p><p>“Why I was at that bar in Seoul,” he says, “with all the men.”</p><p>—and Frank had almost forgot.</p><p>It had been dark, like it was hiding what was happening within and he knew he should’ve left but he didn’t want to because — because he didn’t <em>want</em> to and Pierce was there with those snug pants and he was—</p><p>“The first time we...” Frank can’t say it. “You said you <em>knew</em>. How?”</p><p>Pierce grins. “It’s obvious to another. I’m very blatantly myself and nobody thinks anything of it.”</p><p>“I’m not...,” Frank begins, but then he thinks how his father used to always call him a <em>sissy</em> and encouraged his brother to beat him up, and how he was broken-hearted when his best friend in high school started going steady with a girl and he thought he was upset because that meant his friend would spend less time with him, but now...</p><p>“You make me so mad,” Frank says. “You flirt with everyone and you’re so sure about yourself. How can you <em>risk</em> it?”</p><p>“I have to. Otherwise I’m not living my life,” Pierce says. “You should try it. Actually commit to something, because you don’t with anything — your job, your wife, Margaret, and you’ll flip your morals whenever it suits you.”</p><p>“It’s not that easy.”</p><p>“It is. You just have to make the decision.” Pierce rubs his face. “I hate it here. I hate stitching up those boys to send them back to the front to be shot again. You’re right — they are going to die but I can’t think about that or I’ll go crazy. I won’t let the Army take my life and I won’t let this war change who I am. And I like you enough that I don’t want it happen to you, either. Just live and be happy.”</p><p>Frank blinks. “I like the Army.”</p><p>Pierce puts his hands in his own hair, pulls. “You were drafted just like me, you would have never volunteered for this shit — never mind. You missed the point—”</p><p>“I didn’t,” Frank says. “You’re trying to save me, too.”</p><p>And Pierce smiles at him, so very honestly. At first Frank thinks of it like sunshine, but it’s more of a crooked moonbeam.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- I asked a friend what should I write, and then they gave me a vague prompt for these two and it turned into this, which is part 1/?. So YEAH here I am, writing in Hawkeye's blatant bisexuality and giving Frank character development that he deserved, idk idk. Writing something that literally nobody asked for, I'm jsut satisfying my id.</p><p>- yes, the "all right" joke is from Arrested Development</p></blockquote></div></div>
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